Blackmoore(37)

“And why do you climb out of windows a lot, Miss Worthington?”

I felt my face grow warm. I suddenly remembered what Sylvia had told me the night before—about how everyone thought so little of me because of my family’s reputation. I remembered how she had laughed at the idea that any man here would ever propose to me. And while I had never acted scandalous, I had certainly not tried very hard to act proper this morning.

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J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n But just as I squirmed inside with the embarrassment of all of these realizations, one clear, redeeming thought came to mind. I had discovered my other option. I would escape here with Henry’s help and go to India and I would never have to see this Mr. Brandon or his father again. I would never have to be ashamed to be a Worthington. My sister’s scandals would not touch me there, and my aunt Charlotte would understand me.

I would never have to try for a man’s attention again.

I smiled with relief—with pure, unfettered happiness at the thought of the freedom and independence that lay within my grasp. And I decided I did not care one jot what this Mr. Brandon thought of me. I answered him honestly.

“I frequently feel the need to escape.”

Both eyebrows lifted. “And the window is your chosen avenue of escape? A door does not suffice?”

A wistful smile twisted my lips. “Sometimes a window is the only adventure to be had for a young lady, Mr. Brandon.”

He stepped even closer, and now I could see the faint stubble along his jaw line, and I had to admit that he was handsome. He was very handsome, in fact.

“You become more interesting by the moment, Miss Worthington.”

His eyes were saying the same thing, as he studied me with such intensity that I blushed and worried once again about my disheveled appearance.

“Are you a great adventurer, then? Is that what has drawn you of the house at this early hour?”

“Nothing so interesting, I am afraid.” I smiled. “I only came out to listen to the birds. They are different from our birds in Lancashire.

Obviously.” He was staring at me as if I was some strange creature he had never before encountered. What did my hair look like? I pushed it out of my face, but the wind blew it back around, whipping at my hair and my skirts and causing the heather to sway and the long grass to undulate like waves in the sea. Backing away from Mr. Brandon, gesturing over 108



my shoulder in the direction I thought the house was in, I said, “I should return to the house. If you will excuse me—”

“No, I will not.”

I stopped and stared at him. “Pardon me?”

He shook his head. “No. You cannot tell me you came out here to listen to birds and then leave me with nothing but curiosity.”

I laughed uncertainly. “It is not such an unusual thing, I am sure, to like birds.”

“Oh no, I am sure it is not. Who does not like birds?” His voice lowered and grew more intimate as he said, “But you came out onto the moors before sunrise to listen to birds. And that, Miss Worthington, makes you fascinating.”

His words, his smile, and the look in his eyes, all combined, surprised me and robbed me of speech. I could only stare at him, while he smiled at me, and a blush crept up my face.

“You look surprised,” he said in a soft voice.

I laughed. I did not know what else to do. “I am sorry. I am not ac-customed to people finding my interest in birds fascinating. ”

His smile stretched wide. “All the better for me, then.”

“And what do you do out here, Mr. Brandon, so early in the morning?”

He breathed in deeply and lifted his face to the sky, where the sun had just sprung over the horizon in all its golden glory. “I came outside to explore. It’s my first time on the moors, you see. And to be in such a location—to have both the ocean and the moors at once—it’s rather . . .”

His gaze settled on me. “It’s rather ideal, is it not?”

I nodded, agreeing with his sentiment. The sunlight grew stronger, the light changed, and I changed my mind about his eye color. They were not the green of the moors. They were the green of the trees at home. He was golden in the dawn light—golden hair and skin and light stubble across his jaw and chin. He was tall, I realized—probably as tall as Henry.

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J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n And I suddenly wondered how Sylvia could overlook the son and like the father instead.

He gestured to his left. “Shall we walk back together? I am quite fam-ished after all of my exploring, and I imagine you must be as well, after your own adventure.”

I walked beside him. After a moment I cleared my throat. “Speaking of my adventure, do you mind not telling the others about that? I’m afraid some would not approve.”

He looked quickly at me, his brow furrowed, but only smiled. “I am happy to share a secret with you, Miss Worthington.” I hardly had time to think of his words before he said, “Now. Tell me about your birds.”

I looked at him, the wind blowing my hair around my face. “What about them?”

“Everything. Something. What interests you?”

“Their songs. Their natures.” I glanced at him, wondering if he was really as interested as he sounded. But his gaze hardly strayed from my face, and the expression on his face was no less than fascinated. Very few people actually gave me an invitation to talk about my interest in birds, and I found myself suddenly eager to talk. “They are deceptive, as a group. One might think that all birds are similar, but they are quite unique from one species to another.”